


Ownership

by DaScribbla



Series: The Private and Intimate Life of the House [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Infidelity, Introspection, M/M, Topping from the Bottom, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaScribbla/pseuds/DaScribbla
Summary: “Pay attention to me,” Peter said and pressed their mouths together.





	Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

> So in my defense, when he touched me, the lights of my body came on.  
>  In my defense, the windows were thrown open. In my defense,  _spring_.
> 
> Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, "Not Doing Something Wrong Isn't the Same as Doing Something Right"
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

“I hate rain,” Peter said, pushing the blinds apart to stare out at the grey city outside. “‘Specially in the winter.”

Tony hummed from his desk. Peter glanced over at him. He was frowning at his laptop, typing sporadically. His office was warm, but not quite warm enough to keep out the damp chill of the November day. The temperature was supposed to hit the lower twenties that night. 

“I mean,’” Peter continued after a second, “if it’s this cold, it might as well be snow, right?”

Tony hummed again. 

Peter blew out a sigh and let the blinds snap back into position. “Also, I fucked Sheila up at the front desk yesterday.”

“Hold on, what?” Tony finally looked over at him, and Peter leaned against the wall, snorting. 

“Oh, so you _were_ listening.”

“Don’t you pout at me.”

“I wasn’t pouting!” Peter said indignantly. 

Tony just laughed and returned his attention to his laptop screen. 

Peter chewed his lower lip and strode to the door as though to leave, but he just pulled the miniature paper blinds down the window of the door and then crossed back to Tony’s chair. From behind him, he wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his lips into his hair as his hands slid down his chest. Tony smelled peppery, like his shampoo; Peter knew that he smelled like it too, probably. He moved his mouth to the side of his throat. Tony tilted his head to the left, giving him better access to the space behind his ear. Peter kissed his earlobe and then bit it. 

Tony jerked his head away with a little noise in his throat and looked back at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Pay attention to me,” Peter said and pressed their mouths together. After a moment, Tony laid his hands on his shoulders and got to his feet, still kissing him. “Come on,” he said. “Sit down.” Clumsily, he pushed Peter into the chair, one of his legs sprawling over the arm. Tony knelt down and kissed him again.

“Fuckin’ impatient,” he murmured.

“Like you’re complaining,” Peter murmured back as Tony’s hands slid up his thighs. A clinking noise as he wrestled with Peter’s belt, and then Tony was pulling down his pants and his boxer-briefs all in one go. They were good boxer-briefs, too; he had bought them for Peter a month ago and had refused to let him see the price tag. 

Tony slid beneath his own desk, pulled the chair closer, and kissed his way up one bare thigh. Peter rolled up against his mouth with a little groan. Tony pushed him back against the chair as he ran his tongue up his hardening cock. Swallowing, Peter closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he cursed under his breath. Tony was mouthing his way up to the head, one hand on his stomach to keep him still. He glanced up at him briefly, and Peter was unprepared for how badly his eyes affected him. Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, he pushed him closer. Tony pursed his lips around him. 

Peter made a small sound in his throat—and immediately sat up straighter at the knock on the office door. “Fuck,” he muttered, and then, when Tony showed no signs of stopping, called, “Come in!”

His heart nearly stopped as the door opened to reveal Pepper herself, a folder under her arm. She blinked at the sight of him behind the desk, and Peter did his damnedest to school his face into something resembling, well—at the very least, something less orgasmic. Tony was starting to suck on him, and it suddenly occurred to him that there was no way he could have any idea who was at the door. 

“Where’s my husband?” asked Pepper. There was something defiant about that, about _my_ husband. 

Tony halted.

“He stepped out for a second,” Peter said, praying that she wouldn’t ask what he was doing there. But she just hummed noncommittally and strode forward into the office to drop the folder on Tony’s desk. 

“When he comes back—” and it seemed to Peter that there was something heavy behind that statement, although that was always the way when you were the guilty party, wasn’t it— “tell him that the spreadsheets for last quarter are in this folder.” Peter nodded, not quite able to speak. Tony’s tongue was doing something very interesting to the underside of his cock. “I brought it down personally to make sure he’d actually look at it,” Pepper continued, “but I suppose that job’ll have to fall to you, won’t it.” 

And she gave him a taut smile and left, heels clicking on the tile. She left the door open a crack. 

Peter immediately stood, seized the edge of the desk with one hand and Tony’s hair with the other, and thrust into his mouth. He felt his throat convulse around him—Jesus _Christ_ —and Tony grabbed his ass, kneading into him with his fingers. Peter quickened the pace, eyes on the door should someone pass by, but it was getting more and more difficult to worry: his world was shrinking down to the inside of Tony’s mouth, to the hands that slid up and down the backs of his thighs, to the eyes staring up at him—

Peter moved his gaze to the paperwork on the desk in front of him and stared hard enough at it that the letters became about as comprehensible to him as Arabic. 

His hand twisted in Tony’s hair when he came. He crumpled back into the chair, panting. 

Looking like he’d been to war, his lips swollen, Tony crawled out from beneath the desk and crossed to the water dispenser in the corner, filled his empty coffee cup with it, and took a few gulps. Peter watched him bonelessly. His chest heaved.

“Sorry,” he said at last. 

Tony looked at him. “What for.”

“You know. I should have warned you when I, like—” He waved his hands in a vague effort to suggest _fucked your face_ without having to actually say it. 

“Do I look like I’m complaining?” He closed the door with a snap and then went back to the door and perched on the edge of it, tilted Peter’s face up. “I can take a little rough handling, okay?” 

“Are you trying to tell me something?” asked Peter.

Tony bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Then he picked up the folder that Pepper had brought. “These the spreadsheets?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay. No offense,” he added, “but you might want to vacate the premises. I have a feeling she’ll be back to make sure I actually did look at these.”

Peter nodded and stood on shaky legs to zip up his fly. He let Tony do up his belt, then laid his hands over his. When they kissed again, it was deep and lasted longer than intended. Tony’s beard was pleasantly rough on his chin and cheeks.

“Come on,” Tony said last, laying his hands on Peter’s chest to keep him from chasing the kiss. “You gotta get back to your own desk.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter said, wrapping his hands around his and drawing him down again. “This _is_ my desk.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Perfidy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211850) by [RedFlagsAndDiamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds)




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